


Realm of the Undead

by ichbineinnerdess



Category: The Shannara Chronicles (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:33:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24822409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ichbineinnerdess/pseuds/ichbineinnerdess
Summary: Starts where S02 ends. Wil wakes up, surprised to discover he isn't dead, and even more surprised to discover he has company. I wrote this since I was frustrated with the ending, especially with the lack of a redemption arc for Bandon. Feedback welcome. Enjoy!
Relationships: Bandon/Wil Ohmsford
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

Wil opened his eyes. It didn’t seem to make much of a difference.

He tried to sit up, and groaned. He touched his hand to his aching ribs, “I’m alive.”

“Well, you’re sort of alive.”

Wil felt his breath escape him as he recognized the familiar voice. He sat up slowly, his eyes gradually adapting to the darkness.

“Bandon? Is that you?” Wil’s hand reached for the place his sword had been.

“No sword. No Elfstones either,” Bandon sounded closer now, “I checked.”

“I gave them to Mareth, before I –" Wil hesitated, remembering, “before I fell into the water.”

“Before you died, you mean.”

Flames erupted suddenly between them. Wil could see Bandon clearly now, his hand drawing back from the crackling branches he had set alight.

“You have many questions. Ask them,” Bandon sat down across from Wil, the small fire between them.

“Why should I trust anything you say?”

“Have I ever lied to you, Wil?” Bandon met Wil’s gaze, and held it.

“No. No, I suppose you haven’t,” Wil admitted, reluctantly. He could feel anger growing in him as his shock subsided. “You’re not a liar, just a murderer.”

Whatever response he was expecting, it wasn’t the silence that followed. He tried to remember. There had been the pain of the wound, then the cold embrace of the water, followed by an unexpected feeling of peace. Then, he had awoken - somewhere. Furies in the sky, an attack, a sudden flash of light. He could remember no further.

“That was me, attacking the Fury –"

“Get out of my head!”

Bandon lifted his hands, palms out in a gesture of peace, “Okay, okay. You’re right. Sorry.”

“I don’t understand!” Wil rose to his feet, his voice rising in frustration. He lifted his shirt, his unbroken skin glowing in the firelight. “The Warlock Lord ran me through with his sword. It was a fatal wound,” Wil ran his fingers over the spot, “where is it? Where am I?” He looked at Bandon. “You’re dead. Am I dead?”

“Yes, but not irreversibly,” the corner of Bandon’s mouth twitched with wry humor, “there’s hope for you yet.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Bandon sighed, shrugged. “As far as I can tell - from what I’ve seen, and from my visions - this place is a kind of plane of existence for those killed, but still bound by magic to the land of the living. The correct spell could bring us back to life,” he stared into the fire, “if someone with magic knew it existed, and took the trouble to perform it.”

Wil ran his hands through his hair. “Unbelievable,” he shook his head, “I make the ultimate sacrifice and instead of a peaceful afterlife, or oblivion, whatever - I get this!” He gestured accusingly in a few randomly selected directions, “some kind of hellish realm with undead magic beings.

Just my luck.

Wait - how am I bound to the land of the living?

Wait! Is Allanon here?”

“Allanon?” Bandon lifted his gaze to Wil, “He’s dead then?”

“Not here then, I take it?”

“No,” Bandon pressed a clenched fist to his mouth, “not here.” He shut his eyes.

A few moments passed in silence.

Wil looked around at their immediate surroundings. A cave of some kind. Bedding in the corner. Various weapons in a disorganized heap. Piles of torn clothing. “How long have you been here?”

“I’m not sure how time passes here. There’s no day or night. No need for food or drink. The mind however,” Bandon tapped his temple, “does need rest, or bad things happen. But I stopped counting sleeps a while back.

As for your question - you’re a Shannara. I think you can’t fully die if you are childless, or at least not the way you died. You need to pass on that special Shannara blood of yours.”

“Great.”

Bandon gave a wry smile again, “Don’t worry. I’ve had visions of you being brought back to life. You just need to stay alive here until that happens.”

“Stay alive?” Wil touched his bruised ribs again. “What happens if you get hurt here?”

“Death here is real death. Final death. Your old wounds don’t exist here, but new ones,” Bandon gestured towards Wil’s ribs, “like the bruise you got from me dropping you on the way here - sorry, by the way - are very real.”

“So, what, we spend eternity together in this cave now? Hiding from Furies and whatnot? Singing songs around the campfire?”

Bandon raised his eyebrows. “Don’t be so dramatic. I’m sure your new girlfriend will figure it out.

And we don’t hide from Furies and whatnot, we fight them,” he added.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. I sleep, I fight, I sleep again. I think sometimes, but I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“That’s a lot to take in. A lot,” Wil rubbed his chin, paused. “Why are you here?”

“I –" Bandon looked at Wil thoughtfully, “I’ve actually dreamed about this moment.”

“You had a vision about this?”

“No,” Bandon replied, slowly, “I just mean I imagined it a lot, what I would say to you, and how.”

He stood up, walked across the cave and picked up a sword. He weighed the feel of it in his hand, squared his shoulders and strode back.

Wil took an instinctive step back.

Bandon stopped about an arm’s length away, and then held out the sword, offering Wil the hilt. “Please, take it.”

“Why –"

“Just take it. Please.”

As Wil took the sword, Bandon slowly lifted the blade to his own throat, and then dropped to his knees in front of Wil.

“What is this?” Wil pressed the blade to Bandon’s throat just below his chin. “Don’t tempt me.”

“I owe you my life, Wil. You saved me. You were kind to me,” Bandon spoke earnestly, his eyes never leaving Wil’s face, “I can never atone enough for what I have done, the pain I have caused. I trust you more than I trust anyone - if you think I deserve death, then I will accept that judgement.”

Wil’s hand gripped the hilt harder, unintentionally nicking Bandon. “Flick is dead because of you. Allanon is dead because of you. Who knows who else is dead because of you,” he watched the drop of blood slide down the side of Bandon’s neck, “the elf who did that deserves death.” Wil met Bandon’s gaze, and slowly lowered the sword.

“But I’m not an executioner. And I’m not entirely sure you are the same Bandon who did those things. Are you?

Why are you here?”

Bandon closed his eyes, a single tear making its way down his cheek. “I don’t deserve your mercy.”

“Yeah, you see, saying things like that kind of makes me think you might. Generally speaking, evil people don’t usually fall at my feet begging to be killed.

So - what happened?”

Bandon bowed his head, “I was under the thrall of the Warlock Lord. My mind was weak after the Dagda Mor, after Allanon’s training... the Warlock Sword possessed my mind, poisoned my thoughts. I was like another version of myself. I was me, but also not, somehow. It’s hard to explain. My mind is my own now, though.” He looked at Wil, “I killed a child,” he said in a strangled voice, “I remember everything, what I did and how it felt.”

Wil kneeled, put his hand on Bandon’s shoulder. “So you’re Bandon again? My Bandon?”

“Your Bandon?” Bandon wiped his face with the back of his hand.

“Yeah, my Bandon. The one I found in a barn. My friend. The one who wanted to save his family even after they muzzled him and locked him away, the one who Allanon pushed too far too soon,” Wil placed his other hand on Bandon’s cheek, “I can’t even imagine what you must’ve gone through, or the guilt you’re feeling now, but I believe you. Okay? I forgive you. You weren’t yourself.”

Bandon stared at him. “That easily?”

“It’s not easy,” Wil half smiled, the smile not quite reaching his eyes, “but I can feel the truth of it. The Bandon that kidnapped my uncle - that’s not the Bandon that’s here with me right now.”

Bandon nodded. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“But why are you here?”

“I’m not sure, actually. It has to do with the possession somehow, I think. With the fact that it wasn’t my mind in the body that died.” He shrugged. “Does it matter? Here I am.”

“Here we are,” Wil agreed, and after a moment’s hesitation, embraced Bandon.

He felt Bandon stiffen, then slowly relax. He pulled him away, still grasping his shoulder. “So, show me around?”

Bandon made a half-hearted attempt at a smile, and nodded. “Follow me, then. I’ll show you the sights.

Keep the sword close.”

Bandon took up a crossbow, then beckoned to Wil, “Cave entrance this way.”

Wil nodded, clapped Bandon on the shoulder. “Can’t say our lives are boring.”

“Or our deaths.” Bandon smiled.

“Or our deaths,” Wil agreed, following Bandon.


	2. Chapter 2

Bandon stumbled into the cave. "Home sweet home." He was breathing hard, his arm across Wil’s shoulders, his hand pressed to his side.

Wil lowered him gently onto the pallet, then lifted his shirt to examine the day’s damage. "Right. Nothing I can’t fix."

Bandon watched him arrange his medical supplies. "So glad I risked my eternal life so that you could go plant hunting." He eyed Wil’s selected items suspiciously. "What is that needle made of?"

"You don’t want to know," Wil grinned.

A pause.

"You’re kidding."

"Stay out of my head!" Wil’s expression belied his exasperated tone.

Bandon pulled his shirt up over his head and sighed resignedly. He watched Wil concentrate on grinding some leaves into a paste.

"You know for certain what those leaves are, right?"

"Nope," Wil replied cheerfully, "wait here, I’ll go get some water."

"Not like I have anywhere to go." Bandon stared at the cave ceiling.

His body was sore from the tumble he had taken down a very rocky hillside. The jagged cut in his side hurt, and the pain wasn’t as cathartic as it used to be. If he was being honest with himself, he’d used to go out looking for punishment. Believing he deserved the pain, each bruise and cut assuaging his guilt.

He’d told Wil that he had made it his purpose to kill as many of the monsters inhabiting this realm as possible, to prevent them from ever returning to harm the living. "Noble of you," Wil had said, "and I guess everyone needs a hobby, especially in a place like this."

After watching him fight for the first time, Wil had asked him how many injuries he needed to sustain in order to forgive himself. "Get out of my head," Bandon had joked.

Since then, Wil had been at his side at each and every fight, and was there most of the time between as well. How twisted was it, that this was the best it had been for him ever since his magic had been discovered?

"Brooding again?" Wil had returned. "Tormenting yourself is your second favorite hobby. You know, if you asked nicely, I'd help. Would you like me to punch you? Whatever you ask for, it’s yours. It’s the least I can do."

"I think sticking me with that needle is good enough for now," Bandon answered dryly, while Wil cleaned his wound, and then he winced as Wil did precisely that.

"What’s the matter? No longer enjoying the pain? Done atoning for your sins?"

Bandon watched Wil bite his lip in concentration as he made small, careful stitches. He bit down on his own and tried to muffle his pain. "Maybe your forgiveness has convinced me to forgive myself," he managed.

"Has it?"

"Maybe," he gasped, clenching his fists and turning his face away from Wil.

Wil stopped what he was doing. "I’m sorry," he said softly, wiping the sweat from Bandon’s forehead with a cloth, and pretending not to notice as he wiped away a tear as well, "I’ll keep trying to find something that numbs pain."

"It’s okay," Bandon breathed, "let’s just finish this. Maybe next time I can watch you stitch yourself."

"Maybe next time you can stop hovering over me when we fight, and concentrate on where you put your feet instead."

"You’re my only hope of ever leaving this place," Bandon pointed out, then suddenly realized he’d never said that out loud before, that he was hoping Wil would somehow get him out of here after Mareth brought him back.

"True," Wil simply answered, and continued working. "All done," he said eventually, gently applying the paste.

Bandon sat up. Wil was surveying his scars. For some reason, Bandon felt unexpectedly self-conscious. He reached for his shirt, and then felt Wil’s hand on his back, tracing a recent scar.

"This didn’t heal as well as I’d like," Wil sounded concerned, "does it bother you when you move your right arm?"

"No," Bandon lied, trying to get his shirt over his head without moving the arm on his injured, stitched side, and failing. He gave up.

He looked at Wil, his eyes lingering on his full, soft lips. _This is ridiculous_ , he thought to himself _, you have to stop_.

"Do you need me to take another look at the scratch on your thigh, from yesterday?"

"No," Bandon hoped his ears weren’t reddening as he felt his body respond to the thought of Wil’s hand on his thigh again. _Damn it_. He cleared his throat. "We should probably rest."

"Go ahead. I’ll just clean up here," Wil said, picking up a blood-soaked rag and placing it in a crude wooden bowl.

Bandon watched him tidy up their small living space. Wil was just so damn beautiful. And brave. _Would you listen to yourself_ , Bandon slapped himself on the forehead. He thought of Amberle, Eretria, Mareth. _Great, maybe I can start an I’m-in-love-with-Wil club when I get back_.

"I’m just going out for a moment," Wil said, "I want to look at the sky."

"I’ll join you", Bandon wanted to say, but he was half asleep already. Wil laughed quietly as Bandon mumbled something incoherent and then fell asleep. He sat down at the entrance to their cave, hugged his knees and stared up at the sky.

 _I suppose there could be a worse afterlife than demon-hunting with a friend_. He closed his eyes, and rested.


	3. Chapter 3

"I kind of miss needing to eat," Wil reminisced.

"Really? This is the conversation we’re having now?" Bandon peered over the bush, cursed under his breath as he pricked his thumb on a thorn, and then sat back down next to Wil.

He sucked on his pricked thumb, trying to ignore the warmth of Wil’s shoulder pressed to his own. "They’re still there," he said, "still six of them. Too many. We should sit here and wait till they’re gone, or until there are fewer of them."

Wil nodded, yawned. "How long have we been out here?"

Bandon raised an eyebrow. "Three. Three long."

Wil laughed, "Okay, good point," he conceded, then added, "we really should devise some way of time measurement that doesn’t involve the sun moving in the sky."

Bandon shrugged. He was looking at Wil, noticing the way his hair shone in the dusty heat, the way his cheekbones moved when he talked, noticing that he had unbuttoned the top half of his shirt.

He suddenly realized that Wil had stopped talking, and that he was still staring. He looked away hurriedly.

"Your ears are a bit red," Wil said, "sunburn?"

"Must be," Bandon cleared his throat. "Do you think -" he stopped, stared at Wil’s hand in shock.

Wil followed his gaze, and started. His hand was - it was shimmering, for lack of a better word.

"It’s happening," Bandon grabbed Wil’s arm, "it’s finally happening."

Together, they watched Wil’s hand. The shimmering got stronger, and began creeping up the length of Wil’s arm.

Bandon took a deep breath. "Wil, there’s something I have to say." His eyes met Wil’s, and he struggled to find the words.

"No pressure, take your time," Wil grinned, and then added in a more sincere tone, "I feel like I should apologize for leaving you. I promise I’ll do everything I can to get you out of here, to get you back."

Bandon shook his head, "Don’t apologize," he said, "I’m going to feel like an idiot for having said this, but what the hell - I have feelings for you." He forced himself to keep his eyes on Wil’s. He felt his ears flush with warmth. It felt like his heart had stopped beating and dropped into his stomach.

"I seem to have that effect on people," Wil said after a slight pause, his eyes twinkling.

Bandon’s eyes widened, "You egocentric, self-absorbed, -" he stopped. Wil had leaned towards him, placed his hand tenderly on his cheek.

"What are you doing?" Bandon heard the tremble in his own voice, suddenly scared that Wil was finding this funny. But Wil wasn’t laughing - he was looking at Bandon intently, softly. Slowly, his thumb stroking Bandon’s cheekbone, he moved closer, and gently touched his lips to Bandon’s.

The kiss was short, soft, so unbelievably sweet. Bandon felt all the breath leave his body, and had to remind himself to breathe.

They stared at each other.

"What just -" Bandon was cut off again. This time Wil’s kiss was rougher, more demanding. Bandon responded in kind, felt his body react, felt himself harden - he broke off, half stunned, and searched Wil’s thoughts.

"You’re aroused too," he spoke without thinking, incredulous.

"I thought I told you not to do that," Wil said, "but I guess it saves time." He watched the shimmering air expand around him. "Also, I guess if you’d been in my head more often, you’d know that I... noticed you," Wil touched Bandon’s hair, twirled a strand around his finger distractedly.

"As seemingly the only other person here, I’m flattered." Bandon’s heart was beating so loud he was sure Wil could hear it, and his throat felt dry.

"I can’t feel my fingers anymore. Do they look a bit transparent to you?"

Bandon could tell Wil was trying very hard to remain calm. "I have bad timing," he said, as much to himself as to Wil.

"I’ll see you soon," Wil said firmly. The air was shimmering all around him now, and it was getting brighter, and harder to see through.

Wil grabbed Bandon’s shoulder, "Don’t do anything stupid, lay low, wait for me." His voice was urgent, but fading.

Bandon nodded in promise. He closed his eyes to the brightness and found Wil’s lips with his own. He felt the kiss, Wil’s lips parting, his hands on Wil’s face, Wil’s body pressed against his, until suddenly - nothing.

He opened his eyes to emptiness, a residual glimmer in the air.

Bandon hung his head, took a deep breath and peered over the bush again. "Only two of them now," he said, to no one. He flexed his fingers, the palm of his hand shining red with magic. He grabbed his crossbow. He was ready.

He thought of Wil, and smiled.


End file.
